


Impressions

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [45]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fantastic Racism, Fluff, Gen, Gen Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 08:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran's always amused at how quickly and easily Theron can go from grim Dalish to self-conscious lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impressions

Zevran was glad to see that Theron seemed to be adjusting well to Denerim’s crowds and sprawling streets now they were at the Arl’s estate. All the same, he made sure to take the ranger along with him on trips, rather than encourage him to stay in the estate’s grounds. Some interactions they had with Denerim’s citizens were pleasant enough, but there were always others that were… Not so pleasant.

“Damn knife-ears, get back to the Alienage.”

Theron slowed to a halt, gaze fixed straight ahead, at the muttered comment from a man leaning against a wall they’d just passed by on the fringes of the marketplace. Zevran sighed to himself, and turned to glare at the human. He was surprised when the ranger spoke up.

“Do I look like a city elf to you?” Theron asked, and there was no trace of annoyance in his voice. He sounded almost polite, in fact. Zevran blinked. Normally, throwing slurs at the Dalish elf was the quickest way to get punched, often with the solid wood of his bow in hand if he felt like truly causing harm.

A quick glance confirmed that the black-haired elf was looking back at the human impassively, expression as guarded as Sten’s always was, but Zevran was more than familiar with Theron’s body language by now to recognise the tense line to his jaw, the way he’d straightened up minutely.

“I’m Dalish.” The ranger continued, continuing to stare at the man, who started to look like he regretted speaking as he wilted under the grey glare boring into him and the grim set of the ranger’s mouth. “I won’t be confined by an Alienage or have my will broken by people like you.”

Zevran bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to smile at the man’s sudden predicament and ruin the effect. The human shifted uncomfortably, and then decided that he was needed elsewhere in the city, beating a hasty retreat as Theron glared stern-faced after him.

The blond waited until the man had gone round a corner and was out of sight before he looked at the Dalish elf and chuckled.

“Such an intimidating hunter.” He smirked playfully, and the ranger shrugged.

“It worked.” Was the answer.

“I am not surprised. You were so very frightening towards that poor man, a true Dalish.” The former Crow continued, before he leaned over to quickly kiss the ranger. “But, you are still Theron Mahariel underneath it, _amor_.” He grinned to himself as Theron looked away - Zevran could have sworn he glanced around to check no-one had seen them - and tried his best to hide his blush, as the blond hoped would happen.

“I…” The black-haired elf sighed, too flustered to continue the sentence, and Zevran put a companionable arm around his shoulders, still grinning like a cat locked in a creamery as they walked onwards. As much as Theron used his heritage and usual stoic demeanour to make people think twice about insulting him, it was fun to see the contrast that flustering him could bring out.

 


End file.
